Little Do You Know
by Skalidra
Summary: When the Crime Syndicate invades Earth, and Dick is taken hostage and exposed to the world, Jason very nearly panics. He thinks that Dick's been killed, so when Dick shows back up in his apartment it's a major relief. But there's still the issue of his identity being known, and a certain job that solves nearly everything.
Hey guys! Another prompt, coming at you. This one is going to hurt. It's a requested JayDick, with prompt 11, 'Memory'. Just a note, I am fully aware that the comic timelines don't support this happening but hush. I have decided that this was a thing that needed to happen. Enjoy!

 **Warnings** for: Non-graphic sex, temporary character death.

* * *

"Dick? Dick, _Jesus_ , are you okay?"

He's on his partner the moment Dick's all the way through the window, hands on his arms and exploring the black and blue of his costume, hunting for bruises, or cuts, or _anything_. Any proof of the pain he knows that Dick just went through, with those _bastards_ in the Crime Syndicate.

 _God_ , the way he froze up when he saw Dick in that broadcast, when he saw…

"I'm alright," Dick breathes, leaning back to tug the curtain over the window before strong arms are looping around his shoulders, pulling him into a hug. "It's okay, Little Wing, I'm alright. Couple of bruises, near death experience; just another day, you know? Alfred patched me up and I'm good to go."

His return grip is probably too tight, but the fear is sharp in the back of his chest and he just can't shake it. It feels unreal to have Dick in his arms again, after all of that terror, and the knowledge that even if he straight up raided the Syndicate's base — the fallen Watchtower — he would just die as well. He's good, but he's not good enough to take on a whole evil roster of the Justice League without getting his ass handed to him, and these guys didn't take prisoners. At least, he didn't think they did.

"I thought—" he starts, speaking against Dick's hair. " _Fuck_ , when I saw that fucking lasso around your throat I thought— _Jesus_ ; haven't been that goddamn scared in _years_."

Dick's arms squeeze tighter around his chest, gloved hands twisting into the fabric of his shirt. "I'm alright," Dick repeats. "I swear, Little Wing, I'm just fine. I mean, my secret identity's wrecked, so there's that to deal with, but I'm alive. That's something, right?"

He shoves out a breath, takes in a breath that smells like Dick's shampoo — he must have taken a shower at the manor — and then loosens his grip enough that Dick isn't crushed to him anymore. It's hard to loosen it any more than that, but he manages to calm the fear screaming that if he lets go for even a second Dick will just _vanish_ on him enough to draw a bit back, so he can look down at his partner.

"How'd you get out of there? What happened?"

Dick raises a hand between them, getting nails underneath the edge of the domino mask and peeling it off his face. His breath catches just to see those blue eyes again, paired with that soft smile. The mask drops, and that hand rises, fingers tracing his jaw.

"Simple, Little Wing. Got wired into a fatal bomb, Luthor stopped my heart, started it back up again once I was separated… All in a day's work, right?" He sucks in a sharp breath, feeling just a little dizzy for a moment as he stares, as he tries to process that Dick actually _died_ for at least a few seconds. "I'm out, I'm alive, and I'm not hurt. Those are the important parts, alright? Syndicate's all been taken down, and as far as I know all the family's still alive and kicking too. We came out of this one on top, babe."

"I should've been there," he gets out, fighting the urge to pull Dick back into another crushing hug. "The second I saw you on that broadcast I should have—"

" _No_ ," Dick cuts him off with. "Jason, if you'd tried to get me out of there on your own you would have been killed; you know that. They were too powerful to go up against, too well fortified. It took a whole team just to breach the Watchtower, and a crazy supervillain from _their_ world to bring enough of them down that the real Justice League could be freed. _None_ of what happened was in your control, babe. I couldn't get out, you couldn't get in. It's nobody's fault."

"But—"

"No, Jason. Stop; alright?" Dick's hand slides up into his hair, pulls him down into a soft brush of lips and then smiles. "I'm really okay. Come on; let's go to bed and you can make sure of it, alright?"

He swallows, and then nods. "Alright," he agrees. "Okay."

Dick steps back, pulling him from the living room, from the piles of half-finished plans and half-packed gear that are all that's left of his desperate attempt to save his partner. Dick pulls him back into the bedroom they share more often than not, then lets go of his hand just long enough to slip across the room and tug the curtains there too. A moment later Dick is back, taking his wrists to bring his hands up against the fabric of that black and blue suit.

"Help me out of this, Little Wing?"

He moves without thinking about it, sliding his hands across the suit to flick all those little hidden switches to disable the security, then up as Dick turns around, to pull the hidden zipper down the length of his spine. He pushes it off Dick's shoulders, then slides his hands around Dick's waist and just holds his partner to him, burying his face against the back of Dick's neck.

"I almost lost you," he breathes.

One of Dick's hands — bare now — slides through his hair, head tilting back into his. "I know, Jason, I know. I…" Dick turns in his grip, presses up against him and holds his head in both hands, lips to his forehead. "I thought I was going to die too, Jason. I thought it would all be over, and I'd never have gotten the chance to— to say goodbye, or to tell you—"

Dick's next breath comes a little shaky, and those hands clench into his hair as his partner whispers, "I _love_ you, Jason."

He freezes for a moment, then tilts his head up to meet Dick's gaze, to meet the curve of a smile and the faint moisture to Dick's eyes that—

"I—" He swallows, tightens his grip, and answers, "I love you too, Dick."

And then Dick is smiling wider, laughing, kissing him through it and pressing probably as close as is physically possible. Dick's hands are pushing at his shirt, sliding over his skin and steering him the direction of the bed, until the back of his knees hits the foot of it and he falls. Dick falls with him, landing in a tangle of limbs that somehow coalesces into Dick peeling his shirt up and over his head, and then lowering hands to the button of his jeans.

"Let me have you, Little Wing," Dick whispers against his mouth, pleads, as he runs his hands up the bare skin of Dick's back.

" _Yes_ ," he whispers back, raising his hips so Dick can pull his jeans off. "Please, _please_."

It's not long before Dick has him pressed down into the bed, skin sliding together as his partner rocks into him, fingers interlaced with his and lightly pinning his hands down to either side of his head. Dick's mouth is brushing over his jaw, down to his throat, sucking little marks into his skin as he arches and twists into the touch, hips shifting to meet each of the thrusts with the ease of practice.

There are tears in his eyes, joy and heat and _desire_ in his chest and he's not sure he's ever actually cried for a good reason before. Dick is warm, solid, _alive_ against him and all that fear and worry is draining right out from under his skin, driven away by the press of lips and the body between his thighs.

By the time it's done and Dick is curled around him, one hand in his hair and the other wrapped around his back, there's nothing left in him but warmth and an easy, comfortable vulnerability. Dick is smiling, watching him with that same easy joy he feels, from where his head's resting a few inches away. He can't help smiling back, one hand lying between them and the other resting on Dick's side, just feeling the rise and fall of his partner breathing.

Eventually, Dick breaks the silence with a soft, "There's something I need to tell you, Jason."

He can feel the seriousness behind the words and he lets his smile fall away, lets himself focus. "What is it?" he asks, not willing to raise his voice but he can at least _listen_.

Dick trails the fingers in his hair over his scalp, lightly petting him as he offers a slightly strained smile. "My— My identity's blown. Pretty much the whole world knows who I am now and that's… If I stay, sooner or later someone's going to go after the people I'm known to care about. The family, my friends, old girlfriends, anyone they can tie me to with all that old media hype. And eventually—" Dick swallows, gaze flickering down. "Eventually someone is going to figure out the rest of the family too."

He stays silent, waits for Dick to look back up.

"There's an organization that Bruce wants me to look into; Spyral. It's deep undercover work. We'd tell everyone that I died in the Syndicate base; there are only a few people who know otherwise so it would be pretty easy to fake and— and it's good work, Jason. It really is. They kind of specialize in taking in presumed-dead ex-vigilantes, so it's a pretty sure shot to get me in there, and then I can figure out what they're doing. But…"

"You'd have to leave," he finishes, his voice coming out soft.

Dick shifts his head in a small nod, fingers sliding down to touch his jaw and his neck. "I don't want to."

"I know," he answers, and for once it's actually true. "I get it, Dick. It's not safe for you to stay, and this is something good you can do while you're away." He cracks a smile, squeezes the hand on Dick's side and murmurs, "It's just like you, Goldie; always gotta be the hero, don't you?"

Dick shrugs, but there's a little smile curving that mouth. "Can't help it," his partner murmurs. "Are you going to be okay?"

He nods, shifting a little bit closer and sliding his arm around Dick's back to mirror the one on his. "Just send me a message or something every once in awhile. Something to let me know you're still alive; whatever thing you're going to be doing."

Dick kisses him, soft and slow and with a bright smile. "Will do, Little Wing. Promise."

* * *

His heart seizes up for a moment when S'aru demands their most precious memories. He doesn't know what Roy's is, or Kori's, but he knows with a painful clarity what memory fills that spot in his mind.

Outwardly, he doesn't question it, just spits, "Fine," and stays glad that his helmet obscures his expression. Inwardly, the memory comes rushing back to the front of his senses, to the back of his eyelids as he closes them.

He thinks of the shadows of a dark night, of the feeling of a sheet against his skin, to fingers interlaced with his, pinning them against the bed, and the warm brush of lips across his jaw. He remembers the tangle of limbs with his, of being held in the warmth of afterglow with fingers in his hair and both of them laid bare in all the important ways. Of a soft, easy smile, the whisper of words against his forehead, and the words he'd managed to say back.

" _I love you, Jason."_

" _I— I love you too, Dick."_

He focuses on that, remembers it. Keeps his eyes closed and just thinks of blue eyes and black hair, of a night of tears shed in joy, and the warm press of kisses. Of the _best_ night he'd had in years, before Dick faked his death by the Crime Syndicate and he was left with a secret too big to tell anyone. It was the only relationship in his life that made sense, the only thing that kept him going before Roy and Kori came into his world and hooked him into being their teammates, and friends. He just—

He blinks his eyes open, jaw loosening out of its clench.

He was thinking of something, he's sure. There's a strange, dark little twist in his heart, a feeling of having lost something important but he can't… He just doesn't remember. Not surprising. S'aru doesn't mess around with promises, and whatever that memory was it's been taken from him until he comes back from this possible suicide mission.

"Behind that door. Everything awaits." S'aru sounds bored already, one hand flicking towards the door as he steps forward and leads the way for his two teammates.

They're bantering, and he throws in his own words when appropriate. Feels that hollow in his heart and it… it aches, but he doesn't know why. Maybe it's better that he doesn't know. Whatever that memory is, it must be about Bruce and he… He can't risk feeling so much for Bruce, not when it only hurts in the long run. It _has_ to be Bruce, doesn't it? Who else has he ever cared for as much as his adopted father figure?

Maybe he shouldn't remember it at all.

So, when they come back out of the Chamber of All, when Roy and Kori light up with smiles, he just walks past.

"Keep it," he growls, and doesn't even think about the pain in his chest.


End file.
